


looking for something dumb to do

by Edgebug



Series: Half-Light 'verse [3]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Anal Sex, Arguably Sentient Elven Technomagic, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostate Massage, appearances from Stephanie and her posse of terrifyingly efficient friends, marriage kink, misunderstandings galore, porn that became plot, the literal opposite of a slow-burn, unsafe impromptu skydiving from airborne blimps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: Sportacus hasn't mentioned it, the awkward marriage proposal thing, and Robbie hasn't mentioned it either, though he sure as hell has been thinking of it. It felt right to say and he kind of wants to say it again, but who the hell would want to marry him?  Robbie Rotten, indolent and temperamental, vindictive and mean.All the things he's struggled to be all his life. Hell, even his real last name translates to "crime."(In which Robbie Rotten puts his foot in his mouth, Sportacus runs away from his feelings, and Stephanie Meanswell puts up with exactly no nonsense.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

 

 

Before they get together, Robbie's expecting Sportacus to be as energetic in bed as he is everywhere else--he expects strong hands and body pinning him face down on the bed, expects breath hot and panting against the back of his neck; he expects that Sportacus will fuck him hard and fast and unrelenting until he comes screaming.

So far, his expectations have been wrong. Instead he feels split open, laid bare, and his clothes aren't even off yet. The elf is kissing him slowly, licking into his mouth; he's got Robbie pinned against the wall, one leg pressed up between Robbie's thighs, they're touching so much and Robbie thinks he might be drowning, it's too much, all of Sportacus's attention narrowed and focused on him.

He pants for air when Sportacus pulls back, dips his head down to mouth at the column of Robbie's throat. "May I?" he asks, touching Robbie's waistcoat buttons.

"Yes, yes," Robbie breathes, shrugging out of the garment when Sportacus unfastens it.

"May I?" Sportacus asks again, voice low and husky, tugging at Robbie's shirt.

"Yes," Robbie replies, and Sportacus is pulling it up, over Robbie's head; Robbie shimmies out of it and lets it fall to the floor as well. For a split second he feels self-conscious, he knows he isn't muscular and toned like Sportacus, he's skinny at best--but Sportacus groans low and needy in his throat and pushes him back against the wall again, hands smoothing over his body slowly, like he's cataloging him, committing him to memory like something to be savored, and Robbie feels like he just might be beautiful.

"May I?" he asks again, hands alighting at Robbie's belt, and Robbie nods furiously, watches as Sportacus deftly undoes his belt and zipper and slides his pants and underwear down until Robbie can step out of them and kick them aside.

It's not as if they haven't been intimate before, _many_ times over the past months, under covers and in the dark, panting against each others' skin as they touch and grind and move and come shaking in tight slick spaces made by hands between their stomachs. This feels different, in the lights of his bunker he feels exposed and vulnerable.

"Oh," Sportacus murmurs, mostly to himself, wonder in his tone. "Perfect."

Robbie warms at the offhand praise, and Sportacus keeps right on praising him with his mouth and hands, kissing down his neck and chest, dropping to his knees and pressing wet, open-mouth kisses to his soft stomach.

"What--what are you doing?" Robbie asks.

Sportacus looks up at him, an eyebrow quirked. "I'd hoped it was obvious?"

"W-Why are you on your knees? The floor's cold."

Sportacus gives a lopsided smile. "Well, Robbie," he drawls, clear blue eyes sparkling with mischief, "it'd be a bit hard to suck you off while standing up. Of course," he adds thoughtfully, "I could try a handstand, if you prefer? How acrobatic! Of course, I'd much rather focus on you than athletics, but if you wish--"

"Oh my god," Robbie blurts out, "no, carry on."

"That's a relief," Sportacus chirps, hands smoothing up Robbie's thighs, and then Sportacus's _mouth_ is on his _dick_ , his lips right around the base and holy shit, he's sliding into his throat.

"Jesus Christ!" Robbie yelps, hands scrabbling at Sportacus's hair before resting at his shoulders, "d-do elves not have a _gag reflex?"_

Sportacus pulls back slowly, letting go with an obscene _pop_. "A what?" he asks innocently before lapping at the sensitive spot right underneath the crown of his dick.

"Oh fuck," Robbie gasps as Sportacus dips down again, struggling to stay still as Sportacus slides all the way down, nose right against Robbie's skin; the bastard swallows slowly, deliberately working his throat around the head of his cock. "Oh fuck, Sportacus--"

He stays still, trying desperately not to thrust up and hurt him. Sportacus moves slowly back and forth and then pulls back, looking puzzled up at Robbie. "Why aren't you moving? Do you not like this?"

"W-what?! Of course I like it! I don't--I don't want to choke you!"

Sportacus huffs a small laugh, shakes his head. "You're not going to choke me," he reassures him.

Robbie nods, horrified, "I'll _choke_ you, and you'll get _sick_ , and it'll be _horrible_ \--"

"Robbie!" Sportacus says loudly, interrupting him, an indulgent smile on his lips. "I promise, you aren't going to choke me. C'mon, Robbie, I want you to." He slides down again, but only halfway; he stares up at Robbie and quirks an eyebrow, taps at his hip, wordlessly encouraging him, his other hand guiding one of Robbie's to the back of his head.

_Am I dead? Is this heaven?_

Robbie swallows and experimentally pushes his hips forward, slowly, sliding into the wet heat of Sportacus's mouth again. Sportacus hollows his cheeks, sucking him down, tongue rubbing insistently at the underside of his cock as he thrusts a little harder. Sportacus's eyes close and Robbie's movements falter as he feels a--a vibration in Sportacus's throat, sending shocks up his spine.

"Are you--are you purring?! Right now?!" The vibration just gets harder in response. It's oddly flattering, Sportacus only purrs when he's deeply happy and content; it's not a voluntary thing. "You're--really liking this, huh?" Sportacus hums agreement over his purr, eyelashes dark fluttering smudges against his cheeks. He looks satisfied, pleased, and Robbie was expecting this to feel like he was _degrading_ the elf in some way but this is nothing like that at all, thank heaven, it seems like Sportacus is doing this for his own benefit as much as Robbie's.

Sportacus works him over, hot and tight around his dick, slick and intense, his tongue rubbing and the ridges of his throat catching just a little every time he goes down. Robbie's starting to shake, louder and louder groans pulled from him, he's so close to orgasm he can feel it taking root in his stomach. "S-Sportacus--"

And then Sportacus, goddamn him, pulls completely off him and fastens his fingers tightly around the base of his dick. Robbie cries out, panting and twitching at the loss. "Wh--"

"Not yet," Sportacus says, letting go of Robbie entirely. His lips are pink and swollen and Robbie feels weak, catches his breath as the urge to come passes, leaving him frustrated as hell.

"You're trying to kill me," he says weakly, and Sportacus grins.

"No, no, just having a little fun," he purrs, rising up to his feet once more and leaning up to speak in Robbie's ear. "I want to put my fingers in you," he murmurs, "I want to make you feel good that way, can I do that?" Sportacus's hands are strong and his fingers are thick and Robbie's breath catches in his throat.

"Yes," Robbie says, "of course."

Sportacus pulls Robbie back toward his orange chair; he sits down and lets Robbie settle in his lap, straddling his hips. "Perfect," Sportacus murmurs, "now, do you have--" Robbie's leaning over and fishing lube out of his side table at top speed; he shoves the little tube into Sportacus's hand. "You read my mind," Sportacus laughs, "wonderful!"

Robbie grins and chuckles at that. "Well, I had _some_ context clues," he jokes, "the situation and all."

Robbie watches as Sportacus slicks his fingers, tenses just a little when Sportacus reaches down, behind his balls, lightly rubbing the pads of two fingers over his hole. "Have you ever done this before?" Sportacus asks.

"Yes," Robbie says, hands on Sportacus's (infuriatingly clothed) chest. "Have you?"

"Yes. Are you sure it's all right for me to--"

"Sportacus, if you don't finger me right now I swear to Gods above--" Gods, plural, not singular, something he's picked up from Sportacus "--I swear I'll kill y--"

His words are bitten off by a low groan as Sportacus's fingers, first one and then the other, press into him. "Good?" Sportacus asks, fingers stilling inside him.

"Yes!" Robbie says, rocking down against his hand. God, his fingers _are_ thick, filling him up, stretching him out. Sportacus twists his digits lightly, his knuckles working against Robbie's walls, close to his sweet spot but not quite hitting it; it feels good, it feels amazing, and then Sportacus smiles and curves both digits forward. Robbie keens, forehead dropping down to rest on Sportacus's shoulder. The elf's fingertips are slowly rubbing over his prostate, curling and uncurling and never letting up pressure and it almost _hurts_ , forcing his muscles to tense; he shakes, painfully hard, it feels like the beginning of an orgasm but doesn't progress past there, just lingers and moves through him as Sportacus rubs and rubs. One hand sneaks down to his dick and Sportacus's fingers still.

"Don't," he instructs, and Robbie pauses. "Not yet." He gives a frustrated half-growl but obeys; Sportacus hums his approval and presses back against his sweet spot and Robbie whimpers, hips rocking fruitlessly. "Good," Sportacus praises, sliding a third finger into him, "relax, there's a good boy."

Robbie can't think, his skin feels too warm, it feels like this has been going on forever; he can't keep a breath in his lungs long enough to be of use; he's collapsed against Sportacus, dick leaking pearly fluid with every hard pass of fingertips over his prostate. "Sportacus, please, please," he says, mindless, broken, "please, make me come, Sportacus, I love you, please," and there's three wide fingers in his ass twisting and curling insistently and his cock keeps _leaking come_ even though he hasn't _fucking come yet._

"Can I come inside you, Robbie?"

It suddenly occurs to Robbie that that's an option at all, Sportacus's cock inside him, and yeah, now that's all he can think of, and thank _fuck_ Elven body temperature is a few degrees higher than human body temperature, thank _fuck_ there are no diseases the two species can share because Robbie's not sure he has the wherewithal to find protection, anyhow. "Please," he gasps, "please."

He whines as Sportacus withdraws his fingers from him and his own fingers drop to scrabble at Sportacus's belt buckle, yanking it open and freeing Sportacus's cock from his pants and underwear. Christ, he's completely naked and fingered open and Sportacus is still almost fully clothed, hat and armbands gone but the rest of it still on, and Robbie can't be bothered to care anymore. Hurriedly he grabs the lube and slicks it over Sportacus's dick--hard and surely aching, the man has the patience of a saint--before positioning himself over it on shaky knees.

"Slow down, slow down," Sportacus murmurs, gripping Robbie's hips both to guide him and slow his pace, "easy, Robbie."

"Don't need slow," he snaps, but obeys, lowering himself down carefully, letting himself get used to the new stretch, the _feel_ of it; it doesn't hurt, but it's new, and it steals the air from his lungs. Sportacus is long and thick, stretching his rim and putting pressure on his prostate. He rocks a little when he's completely seated in Sportacus's lap, groaning at the feel of it, noting the way Sportacus sighs and purrs beneath him.

This, he thinks as Sportacus starts a slow rhythm, rolling his hips smoothly up into Robbie's ass, is not what he was expecting at all. "Faster," he pleads, and Sportacus shakes his head.

Robbie reaches for his own cock. "Not yet," Sportacus says again, "not yet, Robbie, have patience..."

"T-the one time you can slow down in life," Robbie manages in disbelief through bitten-back groans, "and it's when you fuck."

"What can I say," Sportacus breathes, heels pressing against the ground to give him the leverage he needs to thrust lazily up into him, "I like to see you wrecked."

It's a different kind of pleasure, not as localized but just as intense, stretching him wider and putting blunt force on his sweet spot; the psychological pleasure is just as strong, too, Sportacus, the man he loves, inside his body. Pressure and tension build in him for the third time, and still Sportacus doesn't touch his cock, just fucks up into him sure and certain. Robbie finds himself a trembling mess in his boyfriend's lap. "Please, please," he gasps, "fuck me, just--fuck me, Sportacus, I love you," and Sportacus's fingers are still on his hips, keeping him from rocking down and fucking himself on his cock like he wants to, and he's been teetering on the edge for _Gods_ know how long, so he's not exactly thinking about what he's saying before he says it, which explains the breathless

"Oh, Gods, will you _marry me?"_

The words are hardly out when Sportacus goes still again and Robbie's brain catches up with his mouth, and Jesus, he just asked Sportacus to fucking marry him, with the aforementioned elf's _dick_ up his _ass_ , _what a time, four for you, Robbie-boy_ , and Sportacus looks stunned and shocked and Robbie's just about to say something, apologize maybe, or just beg him to keep fucking him, but Sportacus just gives a low possessive noise in his chest, growls out "my Robbie," and pulls down on Robbie's hips right as he slams his own up. "Yes, Robbie, I'll take care of you, I'll--I'll marry you, Robbie, I love you--"

"Yesss," Robbie gasps, finally able to fuck Sportacus's cock like he needs to, rocking and grinding frantically in his lap as Sportacus meets every movement, he's so _close_ , he's been close for what feels like hours, and then, mercifully, Sportacus's hand closes around his dick.

Robbie shouts and arches and comes, clenching rhythmically around Sportacus's cock and stuttering to a halt in his movements as his entire body tenses and untenses with it, cock shooting white over Sportacus's shirt before he collapses against his chest, still shaking and twitching with the aftershocks.

"Beautiful, Gods," Sportacus curses quietly, then "Robbie, can I--can I please--I need to come, Robbie, can I please--"

Robbie weakly shifts his hips, nods, mouths against Sportacus's neck. The elf whispers _thank you, beautiful, my Robbie_ and resumes his pace, driving whimpers from Robbie's lips, overstimulated and muscles still tight from orgasm; Sportacus fucks him through it until he reaches his own, murmuring loving nonsense as he comes inside him.

It's a long few moments before Robbie can find words again.

"Wow," he squeaks, "and they say you don't know how to slow down."

Sportacus laughs breathlessly and tips Robbie's face up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, lingering, tender. "When it counts," he says with a wink when he pulls back.

"Apparently," Robbie says, kisses him again quickly. "All right," he says before they can even try to dissect the entire marriage proposal debacle, "we have to get up _now_ , because if we get jizz in this chair's fur because of you, I'll have you crucified."

 

-

 

Robbie steadfastly doesn't mention the marriage proposal all through the next day or even through the rest of the week.

Sportacus doesn't mention it either, but he can't stop replaying the words in his head, _marry me_. They probably don't mean much, just something said in the heat of the moment, but... the idea sticks with him. Gods, what if it _does_ mean something? What if Robbie really _does_ want to marry him? He smiles, his mind running away from him, images dancing through his brain in brilliant technicolor.  
  
_Marry me._ Robbie and him in smart-looking tuxedos, traditional Elven flowers weaved through their hair, married in the spring air on the steps of city hall and Robbie would laugh and kiss him in the sunlight and they'd _dance_ and--

\--and Robbie would be his, his husband, and they'd probably just keep living as they are, partly on the airship and partly in the bunker and--

\--and Sportacus could take him to the North  to meet his family, to meet Dad and Mom and his brother Ithro, introduce him as _my husband, Robbie,_ oh, they'd love him, and Robbie would love the North, it's beautiful--

Sportacus's crystal beeps and projects an interrupting image into his head. Stephanie needs him. He shakes himself and takes off into the city.

 

-

 

Sportacus hasn't mentioned it, the awkward marriage proposal _thing_ , and Robbie hasn't mentioned it either, though he sure as hell has been thinking of it. It felt _right_ to say and he kind of wants to say it again, but who the hell would want to marry _him?_ Robbie Rotten, indolent and temperamental, vindictive and mean.

All the things he's struggled to be all his life. Hell, even his real last name translates to "crime."

He's not exactly a viable marriage candidate. Certainly not for someone like Sportacus, someone who's made up of nothing but kindness and joy, and yes, okay, so Sportacus says he loves him, which is enough of a miracle, but--marriage?

Ridiculous. Marriage is a _forever_ thing. Relationships don't last for him. They're ephemeral like seasons, like snow melting under cruel sunlight. None of Robbie's ever have stayed. Not even the ones that loved him.

He curls up tighter in his chair, blanket over the top of him; he rubs his cheek back and forth against the chair's orange fur and lets the soft texture and the repetition of the movement soothe him.

Sportacus is sleeping with him here tonight, the past few nights having been spent in his airship. Robbie doesn't like heights, but Sportacus makes it worthwhile. He's been sleeping, actually sleeping regularly, and it's been restful--not filled with nightmares and sleeping panic attacks. Just having someone nearby has been an incredible comfort; he's been able to relax easier, and when he can't sleep, Sportacus rubs his shoulders and neck until he dozes off.

His fingers run over his soft blanket over and over.

 

-

 

Robbie's beginning to think that Sportacus has forgotten about the _marry me_ thing, and really, that's for the best.

It's early evening and they're in the airship, Robbie lounging on the bed with a book and Sportacus busily re-organizing some kind of bizarre sports equipment that Robbie's never seen before, moving it from one open storage panel to another, re-arranging it, then re-arranging it again.

"It was fine before you touched it, you know," Robbie says.

"No, no, this needed re-organizing," Sportacus insists. He stares at the configuration for a while before he starts moving things again.

Robbie slams his book shut. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, honest."

"Then what's making you so..." he makes a few nondescript hand gestures. "Hm?"

Sportacus sighs, finally closing the panels, leaning against one. "Nothing, it's just--do you remember the other day, when we were..." he trails off, the tips of his long ears going red. He coughs and continues. "When you asked me to marry you?"

Life seems to pause at that moment and Robbie's thoughts race through a quick progression. Sportacus is anxious. Sportacus is uncomfortable. Sportacus hasn't mentioned the marriage thing up till now, he's been avoiding it, but it's bothering him enough that he has to speak up. Ergo: this is it. This is the end.

Panic takes hold of Robbie's throat and constricts. Life unpauses.  
  
_"Hah!"_ he blurts out before Sportacus can speak again. "How could I forget saying something so stupid? I was pretty far gone thanks to you, Sportaflop," he says on a leer, "so forgive me for all that ridiculous nonsense." He forces a laugh and shakes his head. "Marriage. Yeah, right, huh?"

Perfect. A little stilted but he didn't have time to prepare and he's used to acting as other characters, not himself, so he can maybe be forgiven.

Sportacus stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable. "Stupid, right," he echoes, inching toward the airship door, "absolute, absolute nonsense, ha ha," he says, then "oh, heavens, did you hear that, someone's in trouble."

Sportacus isn't even wearing his vest, it and his crystal folded over the table. "Sporta--"

"I have to go, sorry, bye," Sportacus says, then shouts _"door!"_ and before Robbie can scramble from the bed to physically stop him, Sportacus is literally handspringing out of a moving blimp and toward the ground below.

The door closes soundlessly and Robbie is left alone and stunned. Hadn't he said the right things? Was he not convincing enough? Did Sportacus see through him? Anxiety eats at the corners of Robbie's mind and he rocks a little back and forth, wishing he had his soft chair or even his blanket. He settles with rocking, but not even that is touching the sense of dread within him.

Sportacus's crystal starts beeping and lighting up. Robbie tries to ignore it but it just keeps wailing louder and louder and brighter and brighter and the sound is _really_ starting to be distressing, too shrill, too much, making his brain feel like it's rattling in his skull. He pulls himself from the bed and walks over to where it sits, in its housing and attached to Sportacus's vest. "Shut up! I'm not your elf," he says to it, as if it can listen. "I'm not an elf at all!"

It starts buzzing along with the wailing.

"Stop it, you dumb rock," Robbie says sharply, picking up the entire housing. It's stopped beeping at least, when he holds it, but it's still lighting up like the fourth of July. He grumbles and pokes at the damn thing and apparently he touched something wrong because the crystal pops out of its housing entirely and clatters to the floor.

It beeps at him louder than ever. "Sorry! Calm down!" he hisses, reaching down and scooping up the smooth, tumbled crystal and--

The second it makes contact with his skin it's as if he's been electrified, standing stiff and unable to move so much as even let go of the stone and he's getting--images, like daydreams not his own, foreign thoughts and emotions in his mind's eye clear as day.

_him and Sportacus on the steps of city hall, hands clasped, unfamiliar flowers in their hair_

_Sportacus showing him how to walk safely on thick ice, a frozen lake, showing him childhood haunts, bringing him home_

_both of them standing on the patio of their home watching little ones play in the yard, leaning against each other, happy, content_

The images flash rapid fire in color too vivid to be real, they're _fantasies_ , daydreams, and they're not his, he's never _seen_ that lake or those flowers. More images flash through his brain, faster, weaving together so that he can't even parse them all, just a terrible blur of emotions _(nervousness, longing, hope and then despair)_ and then a voice ringing between his ears--not quite a voice, maybe just a feeling, but it's familiar even though he's never heard it before--it sounds like love, but not the sweet kind, the incandescently angry kind that burns civilizations to the ground.

_**Y O U** **I D I O T  
** _

Like a cut circuit the images stop abruptly, the roaring voice flashing to silence, Robbie left alone in his brain once more. He gasps for breath, suddenly able to move again, the crystal dropping from his trembling fingers and clattering to the floor.

He manages to stay standing for about 2.5 seconds before he clatters to the floor, too, and he's unconscious before he hits the ground.

 

-

 

When he comes to and gathers his faculties moments later he's still on the airship and Sportacus is still, of course, nowhere to be seen.

Sportacus.

Joy and relief lance through Robbie in equal measure. Sportacus _does_ want to marry him. Sportacus has been thinking about it nonstop. He's been daydreaming and pining and he's been too goddamn nervous to bring it up because he was afraid, afraid Robbie would--

\--say _exactly_ what he said.

Robbie rubs his face with both hands. "I _am_ an idiot," he groans. He has to find him. He has to talk to him. Set things _right_ and get engaged to the stupid elf once and for all.

"Where is he?" he asks. The crystal, lying on the ground next to him, is silent. "Um," he casts about for a second, then remembers the airship's onboard computer. "Ship! Where is Sportacus?"

The ship's AI ignores him. He groans louder. Of course it ignores him. Sportacus has been wanting to program the ship to respond to Robbie's voice, but Robbie's been putting off the long, boring process of voiceprint analysis and training the ship to recognize him.

"All right, we do this the old-fashioned way," he grumbles before lurching to his feet and stomping toward the door. "Um. Door!" he calls, doing his very best impression of Sportacus.

The door stays still.

"Well, it was worth a try." He pauses for a moment, staring at the many illuminated touch panels on the wall around the door. Sportacus never touches them, always uses voice controls to open the door, but one of them has to open it, right?

The first panel he slams his palm on doesn't do anything. The second one fires an apple at him and hits him right in the spine, which, _ow._ "Why does he even _have_ a button for that," Robbie grumbles, rubbing awkwardly where the apple smacked between his shoulder blades. "Third time's the charm," he prays, and hits a third panel.

The door flings itself open and Robbie screeches at the blue sky and sudden loud whistling of wind into the ship. He'd managed to forget that the airship was _in the air._

He has no hope of safely landing the ship--he has no idea how to fly it at all--so climbing down is his only option. His stomach does unpleasant, churning flipflops at the very thought. Where's the damned ladder? He clamps his eyes shut as he remembers. There's no ladder from the door. The ladder hangs from the platform at the ship's belly. That's somehow a million times worse.

He pushes the door panel again, letting out a relieved sigh as it hisses closed, and makes his way carefully toward the pole in the center of the room, being very cautious to not step on any of the panels in the floor. When he reaches the pole he grabs it as tightly as he can manage and realizes that he's going to have to repeat the button-mashing process with the platform, too.

Thankfully this time it doesn't take much, but it's still harrowing as hell to white-knuckle the pole while reaching out as far as he can with one foot to tap the nearest floor panel. He gives yet another undignified screech as the platform obediently lowers with him on it and _oh god_ that's a long way down, that's a very long way down. His knees almost buckle and he holds tighter to the metal pole, wrenching his eyes up from the ground far below. "N-Now, where is the--"

As if on cue, something goes right for Robbie for once, and the ladder obediently unfurls and tumbles all the very, very, very long way down to the ground. Now why couldn't he just cling to it and let it lower him nicely? He mentally kicks himself for not just doing the boring voiceprint analysis.

It's agonizing, but Robbie manages to transfer himself from the platform to the ladder. It's even more agonizing to climb his way down, very slowly and very carefully, because if there's one thing Robbie doesn't like, it's _falling to his death and splattering on the concrete in a fireworks show of blood and gore._

He finally breathes again when his feet are on solid ground and takes a moment to just sit down right where he is because his legs just might collapse under him if he doesn't. The airship pulls the ladder back up and Robbie stares up after it. "Good _riddance_ ," he spits, rocking back and forth just a little. He only takes a second there before he's standing back up and looking around. It's evening, darkness descending like a blanket over the city; where would Sportacus go?

Prowling the kids' usual haunts--the playground, the basketball court, the area near the treehouse--doesn't take long. The kids are nowhere to be found, of course, already in bed for the night. There's more to the city than just where the little gang of kids hang out, but Robbie has no idea where to even start looking.

Fear and guilt cloud Robbie's brain and not for the first time he wishes that Sportacus would carry a damned cell phone. He should go back to his bunker for the night, but he can't bear the idea of being there alone in that huge place, not after he's gotten used to Sportacus being there with him, not when he doesn't even know where the elf is.

He doesn't know where to start looking but he can't just _sit_ there, so he steels himself and walks into the city. The park near Main Street, maybe the 24-hour gym on Park Avenue.

 

-

 

He's done more walking than he's done in his life, it feels like. He's looked all over for hours and it's nearly four in the morning when he ends up back in his usual part of the town. His legs hurt, his feet hurt, his heart hurts. So he finds his hammock nearby the silent basketball court and curls up in it, stares at the airship above, and gets ready for a very bad night.

 

-

 

It seems like he's only been asleep for five minutes when he's awakened.

"Robbie Rotten?"

Robbie cracks open one eye. Sunlight. Gross. And the color pink. He opens his other eye. Pinky is standing there looking concerned but guarded, a soccer ball under her arm.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Robbie grits out through his teeth, and it's not true, his back hurts from the hammock and it's been the worst night of sleep he's had in, well, the months that he's been sleeping with Sportacus.

"Have you been here all night?"

"Yes. I felt like taking in the night air and sleeping under the stars or whatever. What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"

"Why weren't you with Sportacus?" she asks, eyes narrowing, and Robbie chokes on a breath, scrambling to sit up and nearly falling out of the hammock. Apparently his spluttering is alarming because Stephanie thumps him on the back in _exactly_ the same place the apple smacked him the night before. _"OW!"_

"Are you all right?"

"Yes!" he manages, still finding words a little difficult. "I'm--why would I--why would I be with Sportacus?!"

Stephanie looks completely unamused. "Because he's your _boyfriend_ ," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Who said he was my buh, my boy, my boyfriend?" he manages, still wheezing a little.

"Robbie! Don't play dumb, okay? I _see_ him heading toward your bunker at night. And he said you've been sleeping better. I'm not _stupid_."

Robbie clamps his eyes shut for a moment and gives up on the pretense. Pinky is many things, but she's right, she's not stupid. "Does everyone know?"

Stephanie shakes her head. "I haven't told any of the other kids or my uncle."

"Oh, thank heavens."

"That way they won't be heartbroken if you screw things up and Sportacus breaks up with you."

_"Hey!"_

"An' besides, it's not _my_ business to tell anyone." Her eyes narrow again and she crosses her arms as best as she can while still holding the soccer ball. "Speaking of which, why did you sleep out here tonight?"

Robbie looks away. "It's...hard to explain--" he gets about that far before Stephanie gasps and something hits him in the stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. _"Oof!"_ Stephanie's winged her soccer ball into his stomach at warp speed, that was what hit him. "Ow!" he wheezes, hands over his belly, "what was that for?!"

"You _did_ screw things up!" She stomps her foot and smacks him on the shoulder with a closed fist for good measure. _"That's_ why he's not responding to my letters this morning!" Another smack. "What did you _do_ to him, Robbie Rotten?!"

"Ow! _Stop hitting me!"_ He shields himself, holding up his hands to ward off another attack. "We had a misunderstanding, that's all, and he--he ran away and I looked all night and then stayed out here so I might catch him!"

"You said something bad to him!"

"What? No! I--"

"You _did_ , he wouldn't run away over a misunderstanding! You hurt him!"

Shame roils in him. "Yeah," he admits, shoulders slumping. "I... did. But I didn't--I didn't mean to, I really didn't! And I don't know where he is to make things right, I looked for him all night, Pinky, I swear."

There's a long stretch of silence.

"I believe you," she says slowly. "You've never looked so sad before so I believe you. But," she says, sticking an accusatory index finger in his face, "you better fix it."

"I was up until four AM looking for him. And look up there." He points to the airship. "The platform is still down. He's not up there."

Stephanie thinks for a second. "All right, then all we have to do is get someone in trouble," she says slowly, "let me go get Stingy. I'll--"

"No!" Robbie yelps. "No, it won't work. His crystal is up in his airship, he accidentally left it."

Stephanie's eyes widen. "He left his crystal?" she asks incredulously. "You _really_ messed up."

"I know! You don't have to keep saying it!"

"Well," Stephanie says, "what are you doing sitting down?! Go looking! I'll grab the rest of the kids, we'll split up and look around and we'll meet you back here at noon, okay?"

"You think a bunch of kids are going to be able to--"

"Don't you even finish that sentence! Just say thank you and leave!"

Robbie nods and stands. "Okay. Right. Um. Thank you."

"This is for Sportacus," she says firmly. "Now get going!"

 

-

 

"He's not in the business district," Stingy says, "my parents own half the block and none of the security guards have seen him."

"He hasn't shown up on any security cameras that I could hack," says the kid with the goggles, "which is most of them."

"He's not in prison," the one with the pigtails pipes up.

Everyone stares at her.

"Well," she defends, "he's _not."_

"An', an', I couldn't find him either, not at any of the tennis courts or, or baseball diamonds or, or anything!" says the blonde boy of maybe eight.

"Okay," Stephanie says, "so looks like the mall's the next place to look. Hop to it!"

The kids scurry off and Robbie swings his gaze toward Stephanie. "You're a little scary," he says, and she grins.

"Thanks. Now," she says, "I couldn't say this with them around, but... there's one place he could be that you haven't looked."

"I've been literally everywhere!"

"Have you been in your bunker?"

"Um, no, but why would he--"

"'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however unlikely, must be the truth,'" she recites. "I read Sherlock Holmes after you pulled that 'Henslock' trick and got Sportacus thrown in prison."

"...Whatever," Robbie says, because he's not sure how to respond to that, "okay, I'll go look but I'm pretty sure he's _not_ going to be there, Pinky."

"If I don't see you in ten minutes I'm gonna assume you found him. If I don't see you and it's tomorrow I'll send a search party."

 

-

 

To his shock, Sportacus _is_ there, curled up in his furry chair. He scrambles to his feet at the sight of Robbie.

"Robbie! I--I'm--" he runs a hand nervously through his hair, "I--"

There's a lot of things Robbie wants to say, but he can't say them all at once, and Sportacus is babbling and Robbie does the only thing he can think of to do: he steps a little closer to Sportacus and lowers himself down onto one knee.

"What are you doing?" Sportacus asks, eyes wide.

"Can't ask someone to marry you while standing up," Robbie says. "Marry me. I mean, someday. Doesn't have to be right now or, or even this week or this year but I--what I'm saying is--I--" Sportacus looks stunned and Robbie barrels on, all huge hand gestures and unhinged body language. "I was _scared_ that you'd think I was _ridiculous_ because I _am_ ridiculous and who'd want to _marry_ me so I told you it was a stupid idea because I thought that was what _you_ thought and--and then your crystal told me I was an idiot and, and I'm sorry, I really--"

His train of thought is going off the rails so it's a relief when Sportacus interrupts him--he drops to his knees to get to Robbie's eye level, reaches out to cup his cheek on his palm, and kisses him softly. "It's okay," he says, and there's _tears_ in his eyes, and he's smiling and kissing him again so Robbie thinks it might be okay even though he's crying too and oh god, how gross. "You're not ridiculous, Robbie, of course I want to marry you!"

"That's what your crystal said," Robbie explains, "and then I couldn't find you and--"

"I was here, I couldn't go back to the airship but I knew that down here your speaker system would let me know if there was trouble up there and I thought I'd just wait for you here--my crystal _spoke_ to you?"

"Yes! No. Sort of. It showed me thoughts you'd had and then it called me stupid."

"Typical," Sportacus says, laughing and crying at the same time and Robbie feels tears in his own eyes and he can't help but think again how _gross_ this is and he kisses Sportacus again, feeling him purr loud and hard against his lips and chest and smile against his mouth.

Well. He _is_ a connoisseur of ooey, gooey, gross, and altogether too-sweet things.

He supposes that's why he loves Sportacus so much.

 

-

 

"We canvassed the whole mall," Trixie says, "and I didn't even shoplift anything."

"Only because I held you back," Pixel protests, "anyway, he's not there!"

"We looked everywhere," Stingy complains, "even in the _cheap_ shops."

"Where's Robbie?" Ziggy asks. "Still looking?"

Stephanie shakes her head. "Robbie found him! Good work!" There's cheering and high-fives all around. Ziggy blinks.

"Where are they?" he asks.

"Um...I don't know!" She hates telling lies, but she can hardly say that they're in Robbie's bunker, can she?

Stingy tilts his head. "Well, how do you know he found him?"

"Um, Robbie texted me!"

"Robbie has a phone?"

"Of course he does, now who wants to play ball?!" she says loudly and with an amount of enthusiasm that rings fake even to her own ears, but hey, anything to get off this line of questioning.

She figures, as they dash off toward the basketball court, that Robbie and Sportacus will--supposing Robbie doesn't screw things up even further, which to her seems unlikely because she trusts Robbie about as far as she can throw him which is probably about a foot--tell everyone about their relationship when they're good and ready.

That, or Sportacus will continue to be clumsy and indiscreet about going to Robbie's bunker at night and everyone will find out anyway.

Either way, she supposes, things just might work out.

**Author's Note:**

> this was honestly meant to be nothing but mindless smut and then this happened, inexplicably and 100% by accident
> 
> this ship is pure and gentle and i'm having too much fun taking such silly cracky source material too seriously. (weirdly i also enjoy doing vice-versa with Serious Drama Shows: write hella crackfic)
> 
> title from that bruno mars song "marry you" because i'm nothing if not cheesy
> 
> *even jazzier saxophone solo* still, nobody tells the mayor what to do


End file.
